


Old Ghosts Nest in Syria

by BeastofZodiac



Category: Uncharted
Genre: F/M, Gen, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-07
Updated: 2013-02-07
Packaged: 2017-11-28 13:37:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/674987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeastofZodiac/pseuds/BeastofZodiac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the downtime between the Syria hospital episode and the flight home, Chloe has time to think. She'd probably rather she didn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Old Ghosts Nest in Syria

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rhiannon87](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhiannon87/gifts), [Prosodi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prosodi/gifts), [Lady_of_Rohan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_of_Rohan/gifts).



> I always find it great to watch characters change and evolve and Chloe Frazer grew a lot between Among Thieves and Drake's Deception. I tried to grasp that growth a bit.  
> I apologize for any grammar errors. My language is far from perfect and I lack a beta. Also... Amy Hennig, I am not, so sorry for mauling her characters.

He's far paler than he should be, her mind notices. When he finally drifted off to a light slumber half an our earlier, she caught herself sighing with relief. He needs all the rest he can get. He had to limp around quite a distance with two of his kind-of-important bones snapped, and that was only after getting repeatedly caught in firefights, almost ending up hit by an RPG, getting drugged, strangling his friend, running around ancient catacombs, almost burning to death and jumping off a tower, all in a night's work.

It's not like she couldn't use some shuteye herself. With the adrenaline slowly receding, her body makes its best effort to show her how exactly tired and bruised she became after the latest adventure. But she can't get herself to lower her guard and close her eyes. It would leave them defenseless. She knows the chance of Talbot and his men suddenly appearing on their doorstep is slim at best, but if she learned something in the treasure hunting business, it was constant vigilance. There was always someone who wanted you dead, be it for stealing "their" precious artifact or dropping an ancient tomb on their head. Or playing mole in their tight little organization.

She tried to convince herself it's nothing. It's just a broken leg, he'll spend next few weeks wobbling around with a cast, growling like an old badger, then he'll shake it off and drag her along to another trip around the world. Or Nate and Sully will drag him with them, they do seem to take turns in that particular hobby. In other words, he'll be fine. But part of her keeps reminding her how close he came to being everything but.

Running around with Nate from one precarious situation to another gave anyone the dangerous thought of your close ones being invincible. You always shrug off the bullets, blood or broken bones. Walk the line, tangle with death on every other occasion, yet remain untouched by it. Ancient architecture might crumble right under your feet, hell, you can even drop an entire city on your head and walk away alive and well to tell the tale. They survived the fires of Agharta. Lazarevic's army. The Guardians of Shambala. The cold and frost of Tibet. No wonder she came to think they could survive anything.

And then Harry Flynn came along and blew up right in their faces to remind them the cold hard fact of the world. That everyone is mortal. That human beings are actually very fragile constructs of flesh and blood. That no matter how much you wish for someone to be there forever, they will not. Doubly, even triply so in their line of... "work".

She'd never say her relationship with Harry was sunshine and bunnies - that thought would probably choke her up anyway - she wouldn't even say she loved him. Still, on some level, she knew he somehow cared, in his own way, on his own terms. And when he was gone, her brain had nothing better to do than to remind her of the good things he was part of, almost completely forgetting about him being able to sell out his friend for a bag of coins (and they didn't really need to be that ancient). Not to mention, under all that adventure and danger loving, constantly snarking personality of hers, she was still human. And no human being can remain unfazed when another dies right there before their eyes. That's what made Lazarevic the monster she came to view him as.

It had been two years. She thought she finally got over it. She pieced her sanity back together, got back in the adventuring business, she was there to pat Nate on the back when he and Elena finally tied the knot, and to call him an idiot when he screwed his marriage up. And she got herself a new partner in crime. Which, as she now knew, was exactly what turned making a thick line separating her from past troubles into sketching out new ones.

She found herself comfortable working with Charlie. At first, he appeared to be your generic run-off-the-mill British thug, hired to bust down doors, carry cargo or headbutt annoying people, but not to do any real thinking. She was surprised to find him just as resourceful as Nate was. Watching the two experienced adventurers geek over any latest ancient tomb they were desecrating was a sight to behold. She remembered them being downright giddy whenever the mysteries they were discussing started to click with the greater puzzle at hand, generally leaving the common sense and practical thinking to Sully, Elena and herself for the given moment. It was both endearing and migraine-inducing.

But even though both of them were prone to occasionally stop in the middle of a firefight to ogle an ancient statue, it was equally obvious their passion for their work was one of the only things where their personas truly intersected. Where Nate was aloof, Charlie was standing firmly on the ground. Where Nate improvised, Charlie supplied experience (which didn't necessarily mean a sound plan of action, however). While Nate was tempting the snarky adventurer-high-on-adrenaline part of her to come into the light, Charlie managed to bring out her more mature and responsible, albeit no less snarky side. She didn't even know she had that one.

They slowly grew closer, had jobs done better, their banter becoming more personal, their conversations more private. And on rare occasions, in moments of either victory or loss, they found themselves celebrating or recuperating in each other's arms and soon after, in (usually) Charlie's bed. She never thought herself to be romantic. And even in the most lightheaded state she could get herself into (with his help no less), she never really gave that much of a thought to their... thing. She shrugged it off, half-consciously thinking it was probably because he reminded her of Nate. It was a conveniently blatant lie to hide behind.

There were no commitments. No restricting promises. And very little needed to be said. Sometimes, she dropped by his apartment to spend a few nights between jobs, getting his unspoken permission to drink half his beer supply without actually asking for it. He also somehow knew when she'd prefer a tea kettle over a six pack. 

Some jobs ended up with a rowdy celebration in a random local pub, others just with the two of them watching old movies till 2 AM. He kept nagging at her for having "no taste in classics", she returned the favor by commenting his boxing exercises (which broke his concentration hard enough for the punching bag to actually win the match on at least one occassion). It were these small things that forged the bond.

The other things, well... they just somehow... happened. One moment, he was all but cheering "Eureka!", explaining the secrets of the Hermetic society and how it tied into their story, almost waking up half the tiny Syrian hotel with his excitement, the other, he was still explaining it, only with far less clothing present at the scene. In hindsight, she was happy Sully and Nate were too busy worrying about Charlie's drugged state to ask how exactly does she know so much about the contents of his notebook.

Just like with Flynn before, she'd never say she fell in love. She just knew friendship and trust when she saw it. Sure, she had her share of double-crosses ( and came to regret a lot of them), but one simply did not stab Charlie Cutter in the back. A, he'd make you regret it and B, it just felt wrong. Because Charlie had the annoying habit of naturally growing on people the moment they met him, unless they were at the receiving end on his fist. She knew he'd watch her back and in return, and that she would watch his if it came down to it. She did exactly that, after all. She couldn't let him kill their friend. And she couldn't let him die.

That was why, unlike with Harry, she couldn't call it a mere fling, either. Because she knew the moment they picked him up under the tower that she was only a few feet away from losing a partner again - that much, she figured, was the additional distance he'd have to fall for the results to be far worse than they have been. And even though Charlie survived the ordeal, the tradeoff was her being hit squarely in the chest by finding out how much she really cared this time around. 

When she finally had the time to sit down and take a breath, which she felt must have been the first time after several hours, the realization took its time to properly dawn on her. They had to wait for the doctors to fix his leg and when Nate and Sully left her alone to arrange their trip to Yemen, it left her with nothing to do but think. She hated every minute of it. She had been there for Charlie even though he turned on them. She had refused to just look as Sully puts him down. She couldn't lose him. Either of them.

When the danger receded, they all behaved as if Charlie's worst injury was a splinter and the toughest part of their adventure was figuring out a believable excuse for a grown man to break his leg at five in the morning - true, that was a bit harder than she expected. She was laughing with them, albeit with much less enthusiasm. Part of her refused to embrace that attitude. "Come on, Bright eyes, y'know I'm not letting that happen," he said when they finally got a second alone. She knew exactly what he meant. Nate had told him about what happened to Flynn and how it tied into her otherwise inexplicable mood swings. 

She didn't want to lie about believing him that, so she just rested her forehead against his shoulder and said nothing at all. She wouldn't have had any trouble falling asleep right there, she remembers, unable to stop a small smile to brighten her face. It wasn't brought up by happiness, but instead by relief. She vividly remembers the panic that shot through her when Sullivan pulled out his revolver, even hours later. She knew that two years ago, she wouldn't do what she did back at the crusader crypt. She wouldn't be willing to risk biting a bullet without a second thought. And still, she did exactly that. Because he would have done the same. Because he was worth the risk.

She checks her watch. Sully and Nate must already be in Yemen by now, probably crawling through some old catacombs again, or being chased by god knows what. Or both. Hopefully, Elena will make sure neither of them will add to the statistic of adventurers harmed during this particular tale. She wonders if the fair-haired journalist still holds a grudge against Charlie for dragging Nate back aboard the tomb raiding bandwagon. Not that he needed any persuasion in that matter...

The clock is ticking. Their flight would leave soon, take them from Syria to England, from the sun-baked streets to cobblestone roads soaked by perpetual rain, to home. They needed to go.

"Charlie?" she calls his name softly. She half of expects him to jump up and reach for his gun given the nature of the past few hours. Only when he doesn't stir and his breathing is the only sign of him being still alive does she realize how tired he really must have been. 

She puts a hand to his chest, fighting back the relief she feels when she finds his heart beating as strong as ever. "Charlie," she tries a little louder this time. "Wake up, we've got to go."

And he does exactly that, even though it's not without an annoyed growl. He lets out a sigh that sounds suspiciously like "shit, was I sleepin'?" rubbing his eyes tiredly. He stifles a yawn and his hand falls back down, ending up over her lap, more by instinct than intention. "Must've been the painkillers," he mumbles, sounding almost apologetic. "How long have I been out?" Not nearly long enough, part of her wants to say. The other part is happy he's up and about. "Nevermind," she says instead.

"Any word on Nate?" he asks as soon as the brain kicks in and reminds him the exact place, time and circumstances.

"Not really, no."

He growls disapprovingly, half because he's genuinely worried about his friend, half because he is curious about the adventure he wanted to see to the end. Anger briefly flashes across his face, and she knows it's directed at Talbot. Not for almost setting Charlie on fire and making him jump off a tower, but for making him sit this one out. Charlie, like Nate, was a person of some very strange life priorities. She finds herself smiling and patting his chest reassuringly. "Alright, come on, mate. Let's get you up and running."

"Ha ha, good one."

"Yeah, sorry about that."

She knows how much he hates feeling helpless, so she tries her best to help him only when necessary. Still, he has no choice but to lean on her for support. As she grabs their gear and closes the door behind them, she finds she has no idea what's the next plan of action, besides getting on the plane to London. She chuckles at the thought. Maybe the lack of planning has something to do with dumb luck after all.

"What's so funny?" he asks with a raised eyebrow.

"Nothing."

"Yeah, right," he smirks, irony all but dripping from his voice. He could always read her easily. He settles against her comfortably and she instinctively leans back, stroking his back lightly.

"I'll tell you back home," she muses and ignores the look he gives her. This time, they both get to walk away. Two years ago, that wouldn't have been enough.

But for today, two years ago is long time past.

_**fin** _


End file.
